


empty your sadness (like you're dumping your purse)

by starrywrite



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 18:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13218402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrywrite/pseuds/starrywrite
Summary: sometimes nancy cries, and mike knows it’s always because of barb.





	empty your sadness (like you're dumping your purse)

sometimes, nancy cries.

mike can hear her through the thin walls of their house, their respective bedrooms closer than either of them realize. he can hear her in the middle of the night, when everyone else is asleep — when he should be asleep — and he doesn’t know how to describe how it makes him feel to know his older sister manages to fool everyone at breakfast with some makeup and a smile, when he knows she was weeping the night before.

sometimes nancy cries, and mike knows it’s always because of barb.

a blind man could see that nancy has been in pain for months because of barb, that the guilt of losing her best friend is destroying her slowly. nancy has never been an emotional person. mike has seen her pissed off (usually at him) more times than he can count, but she didn’t even shed a tear at will’s fake funeral despite the fact that everyone thought it was real. she laughs hard and loud, smiles big and bright. but crying is not what nancy wheeler does. she would rather put on a poker face through the pain than shed a single tear, and mike knows that. at least, he thought he did. because now nancy cries and mike can hear. he thought he knew what heartbreak was like but this hurt is like nothing he’s ever felt.

he doesn’t know what to do, because there’s something vulnerable about crying and just overhearing her makes mike feel like he’s reading her diary. though to say he hasn’t been tempted to do that would be a lie; not because he’s nosy, but because he has no idea who the girl in nancy’s room is now.

it started when she chopped off her hair. their parents, god help them, had no idea that she had done it in the middle of the night in their bathroom, hysterical and in tears, only stopping because mike walked in to find out what all that noise was. he'll never forget the way she looked at herself in the mirror when he stopped her; confused, haunted, almost as if she was in a daze, like she didn't realize what had just happened. when he asked her if she was okay -- stupid -- she said she was fine and just walked back to her room, as if nothing had happened. she went to the hair salon the next day to get it fixed up and everyone marveled at her new short ‘do. but for weeks, whenever mike looked at her, it felt like he was looking at a stranger. maybe he was. it's the same way he feels when he looks at her now, smiling and laughing because it's all bullshit. it's not her. 

mike misses her. he misses his sister. but he doesn't know what to do about it, because it's not like he can just barge into her room when she's like this but if he brings it up any other time, she'll deny it. and then mike hears it; a strangled --  _ "oh, god, i'm so sorry" _ \-- and he can't stand this for another night. he can't keep pretending like nothing is wrong. 

without a second thought, he throws his covers back and quickly, but quietly, leaves his bedroom for nancy's. with his palm to the door, he gently pushes it open, moving it so slowly that it creaks loudly and causes him to wince, but nancy is none the wiser. she has no idea he's here, no idea her kid brother is technically spying on her in her most fragile moment. no idea that he's watching her sob into her obnoxiously large cell phone that holly often mistakes for one of mike's walkie-talkies. "barb," she chokes on her own tears and now mike feels like crying; it was one thing when he thought she was on the phone with jonathan or steve harrington. it's another thing entirely to know she's on the phone with her dead best friend. 

"nancy," mike says before he can stop himself, and almost instantly he regrets it. but at the same time, he has no plan for this; no idea what in the hell he's doing. that's how he's approached most of his life and he's still alive, so what's once more? 

immediately, nancy discards her phone and starts to wipe her face. "what do you want? what are you doing in here?" she asks, trying to sound angry but she just sounds broken. 

"i -" mike hesitates. because what is he supposed to say?  _ i heard you crying?  _ absolutely not. so he settles for, "i just wanted to make sure you were okay," he pauses. "are you?"

"i'm fine!" nancy snaps, still wiping her eyes despite the fact that tears keep falling. "just go back to bed. please," she adds hastily, almost desperately. 

instead of retreating, mike slowly makes his way into her room and takes a seat on the edge of her bed, away from her as to give her enough space but close enough so that she knows he's here. "nancy," he starts, but he really does not know what to say. like, at all. he's not good at grief. when he thought will had died, he was angry. he felt betrayed. he felt like will had left him, like will made the choice to leave him even though he knew that wasn't the case. he felt alone, despite being around people at all times. he felt like something was missing from him, like a piece of him had been stolen; a piece he had no idea he needed in the first place. then el had left, and once again, he felt abandoned, hurt. he was angry, not at her but at the world. he couldn't stop looking for her everywhere, in everyone. he didn't understand why this had to happen, what he did to deserve this to happen. 

he wonders if nancy feels the same. or worse. 

but still, he has no idea what to say and he hates being so speechless. because "i'm sorry," doesn't feel like enough and "i know how you feel" may not help her feel any better at all. he's absolutely clueless. 

"mike," she says, bringing him out of his thoughts. "just leave!"

"i can't," he blurts out. 

despite her tears, she manages to roll her eyes. "why not?" 

he pauses making sure to choose his words carefully. "because someone already left you and i don't want anyone else to," he finally says, his voice soft. he looks down at the pattern on her blanket, focusing on that rather than her just because it's easier. 

nancy scoffs but it sounds something akin to a sob. "you have no idea -"

"what i'm talking about?" mike interrupts. "seriously?" 

"it's  _ different _ ," nancy insists. she sounds almost angry when she next says, "will came back."

"i'm sorry," mike says in response, as if will's living and barb's death is his fault and not the literal monster that took them both. "but still. i know how you feel, and it sucks. it really, really sucks." he hears nancy sniffle. he still can't look at her. "when will... when he was gone," he says slowly, almost debating if he wants to say any of this at all. he's never told anyone this. "i was so angry. i was angry at el for making me think he was alive. i was angry at the police for not finding him sooner. i was angry at his mom, at his brother, at his dickhead dad. i was even angry at will, because i felt like he just... left me. like he abandoned me, or something. i know it's stupid because it wasn't his fault, but still. i was pissed at him. and i was even more angry at myself, because i didn't do anything. because i didn't save him. and i -" his voice catches for a second and he takes a moment to compose himself. "and i lost el, and i was angry all over again. and i didn't know how to not be angry. i'm still angry," he admits. "i'm angry at everyone and no one, at everything and nothing. and i know i shouldn't be but i can't stop being so angry. it's almost like..." he trails off, not knowing where to go from here.

nancy picks up for him. "like if you're angry, then you won't be sad. because being sad makes it too real." mike nods his head. "it shouldn't be real," she whispers. "will, and el, and barb -- they shouldn't be..."

"it's not fair," mike says when she stops talking for a moment. he can hear her sniffle again behind him and he slowly turns to face her. tears are rolling down her cheeks, her eyes red and puffy. "for what it's worth," he tells her. "i'm really, really sorry. i wish it was anyone but barb."

"yeah," nancy wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "me too."

mike hesitates again. "it wasn't your fault," he tells her. "really, it wasn't. you didn't do anything -"

"exactly!" nancy interrupts, her outburst making mike flinch. "i didn't do  _ anything  _ and now barb is gone! of course it's my fault! i should've been there, i shouldn't have left her, i - i -" nancy's angry dissolves into tears and she starts sobbing again, and mike does the only thing he can think to do: he hugs her. 

immediately, nancy melts in his arms, weeping into his shoulder. he holds her tighter than he's ever held her in his entire life, gently rubbing her back and whispering, "i'm sorry," to her over and over again. nancy doesn't stop crying for a long time and when she does, neither of them say anything. because mike knows whatever he says will fall deaf on her ears - she isn't ready to start healing quite yet. and because nancy has cried herself dry; she slumps against mike, going limp and he gently pushes her back, laying her down against her pillows. he moves her phone out of the way and turns off her lamp. 

"i'm sorry," she murmurs, her voice hoarse. "for saying you didn't understand. i know you do, i just forget i guess. it feels like no one -"

"in the world knows what it's like," mike interrupts and nancy hums in agreement. 

"i don't want to talk about it," she says a moment later. "not now, not yet."

"well, for what it's worth, you know where my room is," he replies. "you know, if you ever do want to talk to someone. not that it has to be me, but like. you know," he fumbles over his words, not knowing how to comfort someone who's always comforted him before this moment. before now, mike thought nancy was invincible. that nothing could break her. he doesn't know what to do now that she's been broken, he doesn't know how to fix her. 

"thank you," she whispers. mike goes to get up but nancy reaches out for him and grabs his hand. "you can stay," she says when he stops. "i mean, if you want. since you're already here." 

"okay," mike says slowly, slightly confused. when he was little, he used to sleep in nancy's room all of the time. it's been so long since she even  _ wanted  _ him in her room. mike would be lying if he said he didn't miss this. miss her. 

when she lets go of his hand, he lies down next to her, wordlessly. silence falls over the wheeler siblings and out of nowhere, nancy utters, "death is stupid."mike can't help but to laugh, because isn't that the understatement of the freakin' year. when he starts to laugh, so does she and for the first time in a long time, it's real and genuine. mike knows it is. and he knows she'll be okay. they both will be. 


End file.
